


Clair de Lune

by LateStarter58



Series: Theme and Variations: Tom and Livvy into the future [6]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Inspired by Music, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: Livvy is very pregnant, Tom is away again, and they still haven't decided on a name for their little girl.





	Clair de Lune

**Author's Note:**

> Before I wrote this, I hadn't anticipated returning to these guys. Then I went to an organ recital in our nearest city and when an arrangement of the titular tune began, Livvy tapped me on the shoulder. Quite right too; we had unfinished business.

Can I pop over and see you, Olivia?”

“Of course. I’m not doing anything. What is it, Mum?”

“Nothing bad. I’ve got something I want to show you, that’s all.”

I put my phone down on top of the piano and shifted my weight a little on the stool. I was supposed to keep my feet up as much as possible when I wasn’t at work, but I wanted to practice. I was being good, doing as I was told (mostly). I sat down all through my shifts at the Beeb, of course, in the studio, working as a presenter on Radio 3 was hardly a gruelling job, although the commute was becoming more of a trial as my pregnancy progressed. My playing was always the weaker of my musical skills, so unless I wanted to lose what little I had, some regular time at the keyboard, preferably every day, was a must. Singing was something I could do anywhere, anytime, but the piano took practice. Even so, I had to keep moving position every so often, purely to stop my back aching. “Six more weeks,” I murmured, “I can manage that.” My hand ran over my belly, in a gesture that had become a reflex. The baby kicked my bladder in response, kindly reminding me I needed to pee. Heaving myself up, I trundled to the loo. I made it, just in time.

As I sat there I contemplated how little you hear about the downsides of pregnancy before you take the plunge. For a long time, I shelved my desire for a child, believing that chance had passed for me. Meeting and falling in love with Tom had brought with it not only the chance of happiness but also the love and support needed to make a family. We both wanted it, very much. But even I, with my starry-eyed romanticism - thanks to years of opera study, no doubt - could not have foreseen the sheer joy and incandescent excitement my man would show as my pregnancy developed. He had been away filming for long periods, so he had not been aware of all the less glamorous aspects, perhaps (I might be being a bit cynical). So far, I had ‘enjoyed’ morning sickness, constipation, puffy ankles, back ache and insomnia, not to mention regular, sudden-onset desperation for the toilet which made going out anywhere a bit of an ordeal.

But there was an end in sight. Not just to those discomforts, but also to the prolonged absences. Tom had made some big decisions, even before this pregnancy. In the wake of the miscarriage and my father’s death, he had begun to choose jobs that did not mean being on the other side of the world for more than a couple of weeks at a time. He had said nothing to me, and it was only when we talked about trying for a baby again, one bright starry night on a weekend in Suffolk, that I realised what he had been up to. We had sat wrapped up in blankets on a bench in Diana’s garden, and he promised me that he would not be gone for months, not any more, at least once his Marvel contract was completed. “Some things are more important,” he had said as we gazed at the Milky Way.

I made him swear he would talk to me if something really amazing came up - you know, maybe an offer from Scorsese or something equally momentous. I had every confidence he would be a great Dad, whatever; we could always pack up and travel with him, if need be. But I confess, when he told me I was profoundly moved. Once again he had shown me how lucky I was. Our little girl was healthy and growing well and she’d have possibly the best and most loving Daddy on the planet.

 

I have a happy life now, but with one great sadness I cannot shake off. My Dad would never know her, and she would never get to meet him. I washed my hands and checked my face in the mirror. Mum would arrive any minute - she was only a short drive away now - and she didn't need to see that I’d been crying. My reflection passed muster. I was getting better at controlling it, but the hormones made me more prone to tears, so it was a delicate balancing act. After all, this pregnancy had come so soon after Dad’s death that it was bittersweet.

Instead of going straight back to the piano, I went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, ready to make tea when she arrived. I looked at my watch - it was four-seventeen. I closed my eyes and pictured Tom, surrounded by people, no doubt. It was the last day of his marathon promo trip, because at long last he was catching the plane home, tomorrow. I knew he was near the end of his tether, after several weeks of it. He needed a break from it all; from the crowds and the questions and people wanting a piece of him.

As I returned to the keyboard I passed the sofa (where I had made a little throne for myself, equipped with iPad, MacBook and all the remotes for maximum comfort and convenience when lounging) the familiar Apple ringtone started. “Tom calling”, it read. I diverted, picked up the iPad and swiped. His lovely face appeared, in the now familiar surroundings of his New York hotel room.

“Hello, my beautiful Livvy. How are you both today?”

“We’re fine, handsome. You?”

“Same.” I saw his fingers reach to stroke the screen. “ Are you feeling ok? Resting enough?”

I laughed. “I’m like the Queen of Sheba today, Thomas. Luxury, sheer luxury. And soon every day will be like this. Until she pops out, anyway.” What will my life be like then, I wondered briefly. “Mum’s on her way over. She says she has something to show me, but I think it’s just an excuse. She wants to see the ultrasound picture again.”

White teeth flashed and his distinctive chuckle sounded from across the Atlantic. “If she’d only get with the times…”

“I know. Give her a chance. She likes proper books, and pen and paper ‘n’ stuff, but she is warming to the idea. I’ll keep working on her.” My mother had steadfastly refused to join the digital age, and so far had agreed to nothing more high-tech than a basic Nokia phone ‘for emergencies’, which she rarely charged. She had a DVD player and satellite TV, but still no computer. I was hoping she might accept the gift of an iPad for her birthday, if only because it would make sharing the baby pictures much easier.

I saw Tom turn away and heard the sound of a wrapper being opened. “I bought her something.”

“My Mum?”

I was treated to the raised eyebrows and scolding look Tom reserved for such moments. I knew perfectly well he meant the baby. He held up a garment: it was a Statue of Liberty babygro, complete with ‘crown’ hood. It was cute/ugly, if you know what I mean, but I saw he was amused by it.  As he was turning it front and back I noticed it looked enormous.

“How lovely! Umm...what age is it for, love?”

“Hang on… oh, er… 12m… I guess that would be… twelve months.” He looked so crestfallen I nearly laughed. “Bugger! I could see if someone can-”

“No need, love. She’ll grow FREELY into it.” I looked as his beautiful face. He was tired, I could detect it, just in the corners of his eyes and way his mouth was set. He loved these things, on the whole. He relished the opportunity to talk about his work, and he was endlessly patient, in a way I could never be. He answered the same tedious questions over and over, never showing even the mildest irritation. He politely steered the conversation back to the current project if some Spotty Herbert asked him the same old things about Loki, or his fans, or was intrusive about our life together. But after several weeks of that, and of endless planes and cars and never being in the same place for more than a few days, he was running on empty.

Nevertheless, my amazing man summoned up a broad smile from somewhere. “Just think, Liv. This time tomorrow I’ll be nearly home!”

I responded with a smile of my own at the thought, and then gasped as our daughter, as yet still nameless, did a somersault of joy, presumably in anticipation of her father’s imminent return. I heard a voice at his end, calling him, and I saw his face harden just a smidge. “Gotta go. Bye, darling.”

“Don’t forget the Lindt bars!” I managed to say just as he kissed the screen and was gone.

I sighed as I replaced the iPad. One more day of appearances, TV and radio interviews, and then he would be all mine. After the last long, lonely year, during which he’d been away more than in London, his travelling was coming to an end, in time for the birth of our baby. And after that, in September, we would have our wedding, and his new job.

A sob tried to break its way out, but at the moment the doorbell rang.

My mother is an incredible woman. She coped with my near-breakdown when my boyfriend Mike was killed, and supported me through the dark years that followed without comment or judgement. My Dad’s rapid decline after his diagnosis seemed only to strengthen her - how she does it I have no idea. For me, Dad’s cancer and then his death so soon afterwards were shattering. Without Tom to hold me, I don’t… well, I’d rather not dwell on that thought. But Mum just keeps going. I know she suffers, but somehow she manages to bear it all with grace and calm.

However, every now and then, her front slips a little, like the day we told her I was pregnant again. I’d kept it to myself a bit longer this time, after I miscarried before, at almost eight weeks. Tom was overseas when I found out, so it was possible for me to hold onto it as a surprise for him until he returned, and I made the announcement my special Christmas gift to him. Soon after, we shared the news with our families, and Mum broke down. So soon after Dad dying, it had seemed such a cruel irony. But that’s what life is like.

Today was one of her ‘up’ days, and she bounced into the house looking ten years younger than her calendar age, as she often does. I hope I inherit that. “You look tired, Olivia. Are you sleeping enough?”

“Gee, thanks, Ma… yes, I am, mostly, this one allowing,” I tapped my belly, “...but I miss Tom.”

“Of course you do, dear. Now, shall I make some tea?”

“I’ll get it, it’s all ready to go.” I waddled towards the hallway to the kitchen. “So tell me, what’s this about?”

“You’ll see.” She had a smug look on her face, but I let it go. When I returned with the tea tray, she was on the sofa, fiddling with the remote controls and muttering under her breath. “What are you doing, Mother?”

“How do you work your DVD player, dear? I’ve got something to show you.”

“You’ve brought a DVD to show me?” This was odd behaviour. It was usually me recommending films or a TV series to her.

“Yes dear. Sit down, put your feet up. Which one is the right remote?”

I put the tea things down, handed her the correct device and sat in my usual spot where the footstool was conveniently placed. I switched the input on the TV and all of a sudden the screen was filled with the sunshine of Bournemouth beach in high summer. There was toddler Livvy, tapping her spade down hard on the top of her gaudily coloured bucket, making a sandcastle with Dad, thirty years ago. Brown as a berry and dusted with sand, I was in my favourite bright pink cozzie. I looked at my mother’s smug expression. “You put the old home videos onto DVD?”

She grinned. “I did. Dad had looked into doing it, before he got ill. I found the stuff when I went through his papers and I thought, “Why not?”.

There were hours of holidays, school concerts, recitals, singing competitions, sports days, messing around with friends in the garden… It was delightful, nostalgic, sad and sweet. But then there was the last thing, from about ten years ago, before Dad got bored with using his video camera and it was put away in a cupboard forever. Mum had sneaked into the front room with it and filmed him playing the piano. He was a good pianist, but he had never really had the chance to pursue it, deciding instead to put a proper career in the Civil Service ahead of his own artistic desires. But he had kept playing, and he’d made a speciality of a few favourite pieces. As the film ran on, I heard the opening notes of the very music I had been trying to perfect: Clair de Lune, by Claude Debussy.

I stood up, trying very hard not to cry. I walked over to the baby Steinway, which my darling husband had given me for Christmas last year, and picked up the silvery, moonlit scan screenshot of our daughter, right next to Debussy’s score, and held it to my breast. “This is wonderful, Mum. Perfect. Can I borrow it to get a copy made, sometime?”

“This is your copy, love. I asked for two.”

*******

Twenty-four hours later, I drove the E-Type to Heathrow to meet my fiancé. We had long since given up trying to be discreet, at least not all the time. It was by far easier just to do what we wanted and put up with a bit of intrusion, rather than sneak around. They - the media, Tom’s fans, the bloody paps - want pictures, and most of the time they are satisfied with a few and then leave us alone. I waited in the arrivals hall, hearing a few giggles and getting the odd nod from a photographer. I stuck it out, regardless. I wanted that _Love, Actually_ moment we’d been denied at Christmas. He appeared around the corner at last, looking only slightly crumpled and a tiny bit tired, and just as sexy and handsome as the day I first saw him up above me in the box at the Paris Opera. As I walked towards him, Tom dropped his bag, put his guitar down carefully and wrapped his arms around me to a chorus of ‘awwws’ and a million flashes. “Hey you,” I whispered.

“You’re getting fat,” he whispered back.

I pinched his arse so hard he yelped. “Your fault, lover-boy.”

“I know,” he grinned. He turned, smiled for the cameras and waved to the dozen or so fans there. When they began calling him over, he shook his head sadly and said something that made my heart fill to bursting. “Sorry, not today. It’s time for me to be with my family now, guys.”

The drive home was peaceful. Tom kept his hand on my knee the whole time, and he didn't fall asleep, contrary to my expectations. I felt him relaxing, the closer we got to NW3, until, as I drove through our own gate, he let out a great sigh. “Thank goodness. Home, at last.”

Tom hoiked me out of the car (not the easiest of tasks, getting a hippo out of a low sporty model) and we went inside together, at last. Olly, bless him, arrived just after us with the big bags, and Tom shoved everything in a corner, keen just to flop. I joined him on the sofa. “You never said what it was your Mum wanted to show you.” I smiled and pressed play. I had cued up just the final shots, preferring to save all the embarrassing stuff for another day.

“That’s wonderful.” I could see tears in his eyes. He loved my Dad. “So your Mum’s a bit more tech-savvy than she’s let on… clever lady…”

I snuggled against his side, revelling in his scent, his warmth, the simple luxury of his being there. I rested my head on his chest and let him just be - I was knackered just from the trip to and from the airport. I could only guess at the depth of his exhaustion. Long after I thought he’d fallen asleep, I felt his arm tighten around my shoulder and his lips pressed to the top of my head. I wanted to ask him something. I had intended to wait, but… “Tom?”

“Mmmm?”

I took a breath. We had discussed a few names for the baby, over the months since we knew she was a girl, but neither of us had felt we’d found the right one - so far. She would have Diana as a middle name, that was agreed, but we had not come across a first name that seemed like the one. But now, after seeing my Dad play on the old video, and thinking about how to connect her with him, I knew. “I want to call her Claire. Can we, please?”

He wrapped his arms tighter around me, pulling me onto his lap. Nuzzling my hair and stroking his big hand over my bump, he took a deep breath. “Claire Diana Hiddleston. Sounds perfect.”


End file.
